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thekitchensnk · 5 years

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and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 19)

Rating: T Warnings: Violence Pairing: Gin/Ran Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19

“They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

Rangiku leaned over and scrubbed viciously at the table under the window.

She was good enough for the academy. She was more than good enough- she was brilliant. Then why could she not bring herself to leave?

She bit her tongue and it poked out from between her teeth slightly as she cleaned. There was a recalcitrant water ring marking the table’s surface. She paused for a minute, and, casting a glance around her to make sure no one was watching her slacking off, ignored it and craned her neck to look outside. The sun was shining high in the sky, and the shadows of nearby buildings were short. They were still in the shadow of the walls of Seireitei; they stood like pale grey giants in the distance.

He was out there somewhere, out there in the big wide world, clothed in black, learning magical spells and sword fighting techniques to fight monsters.

That could be her too if she wished it. She was strong enough.

Then why did she resist?

She stared out into the distance, rag clenched in her hand.

Three square meals a day- good ones too, she had heard. She would make as much as a shinigami in a month as she currently did in almost a year- all the sweets she had once dreamed of, the fancy silk kimono given only to the highest earners at the Floating Moon, they could be hers with money like that. She was strong already, she knew, but she would become stronger still with a bit of training, and the thought appealed to her. She would be able to put her strength to use, protecting innocent souls in the world of the living and banishing monstrous creatures.

She would be brilliant.

She could imagine herself in black. Now that she’d thought about it, had pictured it, she wanted it. She wanted it badly.

She’d look good in black.

Then why did she resist?

We don't need you. We made it through before you came, and we'll be alright after you're gone. We don’t need you, Rangiku.

How could words spoken so gently have hurt so much?

It had been a week since Ayame had confronted her, but the truth still stung.

Rangiku bit at her lip as she looked out.

Maybe it doesn’t matter if they don’t need me if I need them, she thought.

(But really, she needed them to need her, so that they would never abandon her.)

How could she leave them?

Sayaka with her raucous laughter and her dirty jokes; Rin with her dignified, aristocratic manner and her endless tendency to indulge her; Yuki, with her sad smiles and her soft, lined hands; Ayame, fussy, ferocious, beautiful Ayame with her impeccable aim and her scathing comments, those scathing comments which she never truly meant. They were hers now.

She had just found them; how could she leave them now? Did it matter if she wasn’t needed when she wanted so badly to stay?

(Would it hurt, she thought, to give up that brilliant future?)

She sighed, and her shoulders sank as she did so. Her eyes were downcast and unseeing, and her cloth made vague circles on the table-top.

She’d be alone if she left; alone again.

But-

(He’d be there.)

It was a whisper in her heart, a small and furtive thought which she tried to pretend she wasn’t thinking. She could only bare to examine it if she looked at it from odd angles, from out of the corner of her eye, if she refused to acknowledge the full weight of the thing.

But there was no way that she could avoid thinking of him, not on this day of all days. The trees were putting on their autumn finery; the world was painted in shades of auburn and gold; the autumn mists were descending.

It was her birthday and it had been almost three years since he’d left.

What was he doing? What was his life like now? Did he wake late with messy hair and have to run to his lectures, like she’d heard all the students did? Did he go out and drink with friends, and did his cheeks glow pink when he was drunk? Did he still play pranks, and did he still hustle at go with a hidden gleam in his eye? Did he drive his teachers crazy? Were they smart enough to see through him?

Had he grown, as she had? Did he still smile widely and inscrutably, as he always had? Had he learnt to cut his own hair, or was he stuck with it stupid and lopsided? Had he grown stronger, more skilled, more powerful? Was he still stupid and annoying and mocking, and brilliant, so brilliant?

Could he possibly be standing right now, as she was, and be looking at the same rosy sky? Could he be eating the autumn-harvested persimmons he had loved so much, and which he had once shared with her, had once fed her hand to mouth?

What would he say if he could see her now, with her long hair and her wide hips?

Would he-

(Would he look at her softly, as he once had?)

Her heart squeezed like a vice at the thought, and she had to steady herself.

Or-

Would he still feel whatever it was that had made him leave her? Hatred, boredom, contempt- whatever poisonous thing he had felt which had inspired him to leave?

She balled her hands into fists, and her nails carved semi-circles into her palms. Shaken, she faced up to what she had suspected all along.

She was frightened.

She was scared to go to the Academy because she was scared to see him.

She was scared because she would see him. They were drawn together, he and she; it was inevitable. She would see him, and the moment would come when it would all be confirmed anew.

She was not sure she could survive being rejected again.

Maybe she’d prefer it if she never saw him again. It would be safer that way.

(She frowned. The thought did not sit right in her mind.)

She’d never hurt again.

(Except for want of him.)

The sun, just beginning to set in the sky, was painting Seireitei’s grey walls pink. She stared into the distance blankly, her mouth a grim line. Pink, as far as the eye could see.

Something banged suddenly on the window, rattling the frame loudly. She yelped and stumbled backwards.

“Could you help me?” a baritone voice called plaintively. “Are you open? Do you have any sake?”

Rangiku shrieked.

“Ow!” the voice whined. “No loud voices, okay? Can I get a drink? I’ve got money.”

“Ayame-chan!” Rangiku hissed loudly, her eyes darting to the amorphous skein of pink at the window. Now that she paid attention, she could see that the pink was embroidered in a floral pattern. A woman’s haori.

Not the walls of Seireitei then, she thought sheepishly. Just some creepy drunk.

Ayame walked over to the window and squinted out. “Some weirdo in a woman’s haori and a straw-hat, Rangiku-chan. He must have been day-drinking and gotten lost. No one would wear that get up together otherwise.” She nodded to herself, convinced of her logic.

Rangiku sat up from where she had lain sprawled on the floor, and rubbed her shoulder.

“Helloooooo?” the voice said morosely.

“Should we let him in?” Rangiku asked, hoping that Ayame would say no so that she could continue to shirk work. “Opening’s only an hour and a half away.”

Ayame’s mouth twisted as she ran calculations. “Could you manage him alone? I need to get ready for tonight.”

“I guess so,” Rangiku sighed. “Extra work.” She glared at Ayame, as if it was her fault the man had turned up.

“Stop being lazy, you,” Ayame huffed guiltily. “You know you would just have spent the time in the tub anyway.”

“I like my baths!” Rangiku muttered in protest. “It soothes my aching bones from all the scrubbing you make me do.”

“You talk like you’re Chiyo-san’s age, Rangiku-chan. Stop being lazy.” Ayame rolled her eyes, and moved to let the man in.

“Hello, sir!” she said brightly, putting on her best and most enthusiastic customer service voice. “I’m afraid we don’t officially open for another hour and a half, but of course we’ll try to accommodate you. My name is Ayame-chan, and it is my pleasure to introduce you to my colleague, Rangiku-chan, who will be serving you whilst I make preparations for opening!” She rattled the pre-prepared spiel off perfectly, as if it has been engraved on her eyeballs, having given it a million times before.

The man looked delighted.

“Ayame and Rangiku! Will there any other lovely flowers joining us?” he said, casting his eyes around hopefully.

A vein pulsed in Rangiku’s forehead. Such an original joke; no one has ever been creative enough to make flower jokes based on our names, Rangiku thought sarcastically, internally throwing her hands up in the air

Ayame lips quirked upward as they shared a look, doubtlessly aware of what was running through Rangiku’s head, having heard the old complaints countless times before.

“I’m afraid not, sir! Not until opening!” Rangiku said with feigned cheer. “What can I get you to drink?”

She slid behind the bar, rolling her sleeves up as she went. Her hands flew with precise and automatic movements to a cleaning cloth, which she threw over her shoulder. Her working nights were already long; this was going to be a tough evening.

“I’m going up to get ready,” Ayame said. “If you need help…” she trailed off, and mimed ringing a bell.

Rangiku cottoned on quickly, and gave a thumbs up. “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” she said, genuine cheer starting to enter her voice. She was sure she could handle one drunkard in a straw-hat by herself, no matter how massive he was. “We’ll be fine.”

Despite her complaints, she did enjoy the perks of the job, and getting to meet new people ranked chief amongst them. She had spent many nights listening to tall tales and gossip, getting genuinely invested in her customers’ complaints, periodically letting out an outraged “No!” or “You’re joking!”.

She was particularly intrigued by her customer’s interesting choice of dress for the evening, and was looking forward to getting that story from him.

Ayame trod steadily up the stairs, leaving Rangiku alone with the customer.

“Sake,” the man announced grandiosely. “Sake. Gimme the good stuff. The good sake. Rangi-Rangiku-chan.”

She was mildly impressed that he had managed to keep hold of her name in his sorry state. He looked as if he had been dragged through several hedges backwards and had slept on someone’s roof. The stranger’s warm, brown eyes seemed to have trouble focusing, and he seemed insistent on giving her his dopiest, drunkest smile.

But his seemed to be a well-intentioned face. And he seemed like he liked a bit of fun, which made him alright in Rangiku’s book.

She played along, pouring him their second best sake. The real good stuff was for special occasions, and she was hesitant to let a dubious pink-robed stranger have some without sign off from Chiyo.

“One of our finest sakes coming right up for you, sir,” she said in the stuffiest impression she could muster of a noble.

The stranger heard her, and guffawed so loudly that his straw hat fell across his face. She handed him his sake, and added the amount to his tab, and the man plonked his hat down on the counter.

“I am glad to see that I have found my way to an establishment of quality,” he said with the same feigned pomposity.

“Everything here is quality, sir,” she assured him. “Booze, music and tits.”

“Now you sound like a true noble,” he grinned.

“What?” she said with lazy disbelief, “You can’t be saying that the nobles go around talking like that? They’re not that rude. How would you even know anyway?”

The stranger ignored her and stretched his large limbs across the bar, his bearded cheek pressing against the cool wooden surface.

“Ahhhhh,” he sighed in pleasure. “So nice and cold.”

Ayame had polished the bar earlier, but it irked Rangiku know that the facial imprint of a drunken eccentric would be smudging it all evening after her efforts. She resisted the urge to poke him in the offending cheek. A vein twitched in her temple.

“Hey!” she said loudly instead, “What do you mean, ‘like a true noble’?”

The man rumbled and vaguely waved his hand in the air. “You meet the Shibas, and they’re all vulgar, the whole lot of them- riding boars and screaming, shooting off fireworks into the sky, swearing. The Shihoins aren’t much better.” His liquid brown eyes took on an amused gleam. “And the Kyourakus- well, they’re a bunch of ingrates. The less said about that lot, the better really.” He grinned, seemingly entertained by his own jokes. Rangiku was lost. “Once you’ve got enough money, you can afford not to have manners,” he informed her, and he sloshed his sake around in his cup as if to prove his point.

She digested this, and then nodded vigorously. “That makes sense,” she said sagely. “I was talking to a-“ rival? Antagonist? Pain in the ass? “-guy here one night who’s in Seireitei at shinigami school, and he said that the students from noble families are stuck-up pricks who look down on everyone from Rukongai.”

The man scratched sheepishly at his hair and twiddled with one of his hairpins. “It does happen,” he admitted, “but usually they get over it by the time they graduate. By that point a shinigami is a shinigami and you’ve got to trust your comrades when you’ve got a Hollow breathing down your back.” The man changed the topic quickly. “It’s quite rare, isn’t it? A shinigami coming from fourteenth?”

For a drunk man, he spoke very cogently. Rangiku was impressed, and wonder what that spoke of- a long and practiced history with alcohol, or a tendency to try and get people to underestimate his abilities.

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “Not that rare though. It’s far harder making it to Seireitei from a district out in the thirties or fourties. If he was from Inuzuri, then I might be more impressed. I kicked his ass.”

The man laughed, and Rangiku flushed in self-righteous embarrassment. “I did!” she protested hotly. “I kicked his ass.”

“No, no,” the man said placatingly. “I was laughing at the fact that it would take coming from Inuzuri to impress you. Those are some pretty high standards that you’ve got there, Rangiku-chan. I’m sure you did kick your poor boy’s ass.”

Rangiku considered the man’s justification for a moment. “Okay,” she said grudgingly, a suspicious look on her face. “I can buy that. Anyway, my friend made it to Seireitei, and I think we were from around that number, though it’s hard to tell- we didn’t live in a village or a town.”

“Makes sense,” the man said reasonably. “Guess you would have high standards if that was your experience.” His warm, dark eyes filled with pity. “That must have been pretty rough. We don’t do enough for the poorer districts.”

Rangiku felt uncomfortable; she had never liked to be pitied. It made her feel as if she was being singled out, exposed, and for all the wrong reasons. The increased scrutiny of the man’s gaze felt like worms wriggling on her skin.

She changed the subject quickly.

“Why were you out drinking? What’s the occasion? Did you lose your friends? What sort of a party costume is a woman’s haori and a straw hat?” she asked rudely.

The man looked affronted. He shifted his head, with all its dark curls, onto his arms, and gave her a pained look.

“It makes no sense to say something like ‘woman’s haori’,” he complained. “Why can’t it just be a haori? And even if you insist on calling it that, it’s no big deal. I suit it.”

A slow grin crept across Rangiku’s face as she realised.

“It’s not a costume,” she said gleefully.

The man pouted at her. “I wear this every day.”

“But a straw-hat? Really? ‘S not very stylish” she asked dubiously.

He looked wounded. “It stops my pretty face from getting sunburn if I fall asleep on a rooftop,” he said plaintively. “My friend told me I should wear it because I kept getting silly sunburn marks. He’s more sensible than I am.”

He had fallen asleep on a roof! Her first impressions had been bang on. Pleased, she hummed to herself.

“So what’s the occasion then? What brings you out tonight?”

The atmosphere turned in a moment. The man’s eyes were suddenly stony serious.

Rangiku reeled from the mood whiplash.

“Eh?” she said in shock.

The man held her gaze intensely for a few seconds, and his eyes bore down into her soul. It was transfixing and a little frightening. He looked at her, and then-

He could not help but sputter in laughter. He took a sip of his sake.

“Hey!” she said in alarm. “That was just plain creepy! Watch it before you stare like that at a pretty lady!” In spite of herself, she leaned over to refill his cup.

“I’m sorry for giving you a fright. I’ll tell you why I’m drinking.” There was something there, something tight about his eyes, which she had not noticed at first, and she looked at him in concern. “But…” he trailed off slowly, and sudden merriment danced in his eyes. “I’ll only do it if we play a game!”

He winked at her.

“Eh?” Something about the man was thorough disorienting. He was serious one moment, morose the next, and then his eyes would twinkle and he would joke and laugh and offer to play games. The constant feeling of disorientation reminded her of someone. “What sort of game?”

“Quid pro quo. I ask you a question, you ask me a question.”

That seemed very reasonable to her. It could even be quite fun. She grinned. “No. I ask you a question, you ask me a question." She paused, and sighed melodramatically. "But if we're going to talk all evening, my poor throat will get all dry and sore and my voice will get raspy..." She looked at her customer with big, blue, beseeching eyes.

He leapt on the opportunity. "A drink then!" he cheered with a wide smile, "For my lovely, attentive barmaid. And another one for me!"

"You're my new favourite customer!" she enthused.

She poured their drinks, and raised her cup. "Kanpai!" she said, before knocking back the drink. It certainly beat staring at the ceiling gloomily in a bathtub, as far as birthdays went.

She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, and bent over the counter, her weight resting on her arms. "Right," she said with determination, looking over him. "Right. Let's get this started. First question. What's your name, mysterious stranger?"

He blinked balefully at her. "That's a boring question!" he whined.

She stuck to her guns. "Name!" she demanded, banging her cup on the bar-top.

The man pulled a face. "Kyouraku Shunsui."

"Kyoura-" she paused. "Wait! You said that name before! You're a noble? You?"

He moved a hand lazy hand in the air. "That's circumstantial evidence! Immaterial to the case at hand!" He protested. "I'm innocent, I swear! And anyway, that was two questions. You’re cheating already," he said accusingly. "Wait your turn. It's my turn now. What," he paused dramatically, "is your name?"

Her palm came up to smack her face before she could help it. "You already know my name! I told you earlier! How drunk are you?"

"Oh yeah," he said with drunken cheer. "You're like the flower. Rangiku-chan. Whoops."

She sighed weightily and sipped her sake with a scowl. It was going to be a long night if the man insisted on asking questions like this. "Ask another question."

"Hmmmmmmmm," he extended the sound for a comically long time. "Okay. Right… How long have you worked here?"

"Almost three years now."

He looked at her expectantly, as if expecting more detail.

"What?" she said. "That was your question!"

"Booooo," he drawled childishly. "This game won't be any fun if you don't give any details."

"There aren't any details to give on that question!" she argued hotly. "It was a bad question. You want good answers? Then ask good questions! It's my turn now. Why do you wear that haori?"

He looked taken aback, and he ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "Yare, yare," he sighed wearily. "I wear it to commemorate a woman I loved." His eyes took on a strange gleam and a smile twitched at his lips. "Or I wear it because it's the only socially sanctioned way of wearing something as comfy as a blanket outside my bedroom. One of those two things- you figure it out."

Rangiku was annoyed. "You're supposed to tell the truth," she complained to him.

"I was!” He smiled mysteriously. “Maybe. It's my turn anyway."

"Go for it."

"How did you beat that shinigami student?"

Rangiku perked up. "That's an easy one. We went out into the street behind the bar. I concentrated my spiritual energy into my hands, and bam!" She punched the air ferociously. "Just like that. I got him smack bang in the chest and he went twirling through the air. It was brilliant,” she informed him.

He nodded slowly, and as he did so, sake sloshed out of his cup. She moved to refill it.

"So you have spiritual power. That makes sense."

"What about you?" she asked. "You're a noble. Don’t you high and mighty folks usually have powers?" Thinking about it, he had seemed to know a lot about the academy and how students treated those from Rukongai. That should have tipped her off.

He seemed to find the question hysterically funny for some reason. His shoulders shook with barely suppressed laughter, and he kept making sputtering noises.

Her eyes narrowed. "Hey!" she said hotly. "It's rude to laugh at a beautiful girl's heartfelt questions"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." His eyes shone with humour. He did not look sorry in the slightest. "Yes- yes, I have spiritual power. Y’know- just a little bit."

"Are you a shinigami?" she demanded.

"Not your turn!" He wagged his finger at her, and she huffed at him. "If you have spiritual energy, why aren't you at the academy?"

It was a question she had been asking herself all week, put to her by a complete stranger.

"Was that a bad question?" he asked, not unkindly. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. Who even says that you want to go?"

She looked at him, and sighed, her previous melancholy washing over her again. His eyes, warm and brown and full of compassion, looked at her with genuine curiosity. "I do want to go," she said firmly. "A lot, actually. It's a two-sake cup question.”

"Would you like me to buy you another cup?"

"Go on, and I'll give your question my best shot."

She poured herself more sake, and began to piece together an answer.

She did not know what it was that compelled her to answer him.

She had always avoided expressing her worries and her fears to people that she knew. It was not a rational or thought out thing, as far as she could tell. It was just that it was... Safer. In her experience, if you became too much effort for someone, they would just leave you behind. It was best to show the world a smiling, happy face, to laugh and to be merry and beautiful; there would never be any reason to leave behind someone who was no trouble.

A stranger though- there was no reason to hide from a stranger.

She'd likely never see him again, and so she took the plunge.

"At first I didn't think I was good enough. Or at least, that's what I told myself for a long time." She told him with a side-long glance. "I think… That it was just an excuse I was using, so that I wouldn't have to think too hard about anything difficult. It was easier just to say 'Oh well! I can't make it, so what's the use of trying? Guess I have to stay here.'" She took a deep breath. "But that was a pile of shit! It turns out that I'm actually amazing. But actually... I think knew that all along. I was just lying to myself because I didn't want to leave. Do you get me?"

He looked at her, and his gaze was soft and serious. Was this really a drunk man? For a moment, she doubted it.

"I think so," he nodded, and almost to himself, he said, "Sometimes the person we're best at lying to is ourselves." He paused, and addressed her directly. "What is it that's keeping you here then?"

A small, shy smile crossed her face, and when she looked at him then, it was like she was looking past him, to something that only she could see. "My job. My friends,” she said warmly.

But then her smile faltered.

“They don’t need me though,” she said quietly. “Not like I need them. Ayame-chan is desperate for me to leave. She'd kick me out the door with my bags tomorrow if she could. She doesn’t want me to waste my talent. She doesn’t want me to get ‘trapped’.” She looked at him earnestly. "It's difficult, because I want to go! I do! So much! But I don't want to leave either."

Kyouraku hummed in sympathy.

Rangiku could not stop. “But I don’t want to be alone. Not again. Not ever.”

The man pulled himself up from his drunken sprawl across the bar.

“I don’t think loneliness would be a problem for you. Look at us! Nattering on like fishwives! And we’ve only known each other for what, an hour? You’re a charming girl. I don’t think that would be a problem.”

He paused.

“Just for the sake of argument here,” he said, “why couldn’t you visit them? You’ll be very busy for your first few years, but of course, you’ll get plenty of vacation time from the academy. It wouldn’t be a hard thing.”

She had gone still, very still, and his sharp eyes had noticed it immediately. He inclined his head towards her slowly. “There’s a gap here…. You knew that you would be able to visit. So why not go? You knew that you could always visit.”

He was very sharp, for a drunk man.

She swallowed, and closed her eyes slowly.

There was a beat of silence, and then he spoke.

“Is it a boy?” he asked with mischievous delight.

Rangiku squawked loudly, and glared daggers at him.

“It is a boy!” he crowed.

She could not even deny it, so she just fumed uselessly at him. “It isn’t like that! Not at all!”

He was obviously very entertained. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” she gritted out, and he grinned. “He left me behind.” Her heart was sickeningly tight. “I didn’t even know he was going to leave, and he abandoned me. I should have known. He was always leaving, but I’m stupid and didn’t even suspect a thing.”

To her horror, there were tears in her eyes, and she tried furiously to blink them away. She felt a kind of writhing anger. She had never told anyone before, and it was shaping up to be every bit as intrusive and bruising as she had thought it would be.

Kyouraku noticed the tears, and was shame-faced.

“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly, and she gave him a fierce look. “I didn’t mean to pour salt on old wounds. That must have been very difficult. It’s tough, being left behind.” He paused. “I know I may not seem it, looking as virile and handsome as I do, but I’ve been round the block a few times. There’s not much I’ve not heard in my time. You should talk to me about it and I’ll see if I can give you some advice.” He was obviously trying to make up for his insensitivity by extending an olive branch.

Rangiku sniffed, suspicious, but she took it anyway.

“You say ’Talk about it’ like it’s an easy thing… Where would I even start?” she said accusingly.

“How did you meet?” Kyouraku prompted gently.

She was silent for a long moment, pulling together her thoughts. It did not all come flooding back. It was not an easy thing. She had to reach fiercely for every word, to fight down the reluctance to speak, to strain and grasp to pull the sentences together.

But she did it.

“I’m not sure how long ago it was, now. Time had a way of blurring together, back then, so that days could go by and feel like hours and months could pass in minutes. But this is the way I remember it, and that I’ll never forget,” she said.

“There was a day, a day a long time ago, when I was stumbling along a dirt road in my old, worn out shoes with the sun burning the back of my neck. It was the kind of dry heat that you occasionally get at the end of summer, before the mists set in- the sort where your throat dries up with the heat and your eyeballs itch, where the cicadas buzz so loudly that the noise feels like it will never stop bouncing around in your brain.

“I hadn’t eaten in almost five days. I just knew that I had to keep moving, because if I didn’t, it might just be the day I finally collapsed and never got up again.”

Kyouraku’s expression was a grim line, and his eyes were dark.

“As it turns out, I did collapse.” She laughed but it was an odd, soft thing. “But it was okay.

“When I opened my eyes, he was there. He had a dried persimmon in his hand, and he put it to my mouth, and I chewed it, though I don’t know how I could have, my mouth was so dry.” Her gaze fell to her hands, her expression was gentle, but she didn’t see them. She was too far off, lost in some distant, untouchable memory.

“I don’t know how it tasted, that first persimmon. I don’t remember. I was too out of it, too light-headed even to stand. But it must have been the sweetest thing in the world.” She looked up at him. “I don’t remember what happened, but when I next woke, I was in his bed. I had stolen his only blanket.” She laughed brightly at the memory. “I was so panicked! I thought he was going to throw me out! But he didn’t- he told me to stay. That’s how we met.”

Kyouraku looked troubled, but captivated nonetheless.

“I don’t know whether that’s beautiful or incredibly sad,” he admitted to her.

“A bit of both, maybe?”

“Maybe. The most beautiful things are usually a little bit sad.” He said the words with such sincerity that she knew in her gut that he had to be speaking from experience. She looked at him askance, but he motioned at her to continue on.

“We lived together for a long time,” she said after a beat.

“I have a bad habit of only remembering the good bits- the times when we laughed, the times when he tried to push me in the river and I managed to slip him up instead, or the one time I ever managed to beat him at go, when he had stolen a bottle of sake on my birthday. I remember the songs we sang by the river, the made up lyrics he added, the times when he held my hand the first time we went into town, or the way he kept me safe. What I remember most is the way he never let me starve again after he found me.

“I forget that he was a pain in the ass, that he pissed off everyone he ever met, that he would leave all the time telling me where he was going, that he made me feel so lonely, that people were scared of him, that they all hated him. I even hated him sometimes, I think.”

Her voice trailed off.

“I was so stupid, to think that all of it- any of it- meant anything at all. In the end, he left me, and that’s what I keep coming back to. He just… left. And I was alone.”

She paused, shame-faced. Something she had buried deep and secret within herself was rising from in her, something so fragile and so powerful that she could barely face it in the light of day. But she was tired, too tired to keep it back now. She had kept it to herself for almost three years, and now she could bear it no longer.

She looked at her hands, at skin that had been made rough and worn by the endless work of cleaning. Her hands, which had never been soft.

“He didn’t love me,” she said quietly. There it was now, out in the world. There could be no turning back. “If he’d loved me, he would have stayed.” She looked Kyouraku in the eye. “I think I might have loved him though.”

There was a heart-rending beat of silence.

“Anywa-“ she tried to rush out.

“Is that why you’re scared?” Kyouraku asked compassionately.

She bit her lip, and she nodded mutely. “I keep wondering what would happen if I were to see him again,” she confessed quietly.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he asked reasonably.

“What if he hated me?” she mumbled pathetically.

He held her gaze, suddenly very serious. “And what if he didn’t?”

“What?”

“What if he didn’t?” He repeated. “What if he was just being stupid and insensitive when he left, Rangiku-chan? What if you’re throwing away your shot at a comfortable future on a groundless, misplaced fear- a misinterpretation of the situation- when things could actually work out? When you could be friends again? I don’t know the odds- I don’t know the boy- but wouldn’t you want to at least try?”

He paused, and he sighed.

“The time you have isn’t infinite. Not even here. Trust me, I know what it’s like to be working on a timer. That friend I mentioned earlier- he’s really not well. Time is precious. Don’t waste it.”

She bit at her lip, uncertain, but he continued.

“And consider this- what if it’s worse than that? What if he is such a bastard that he really didn’t ever care? Why would you let fear of a bastard like that rule your life?” He looked at her intently. “Don’t let fear ruin your life.”

He paused, and he grinned then, and for a moment, she could remember that he was supposed to be nothing more than another drunken fool.

“Or bastards. Don’t let those ruin your life either. Or fearsome bastards for that matter. They’re probably the worst of all. It might even be the case that you don’t even see him at all for a very long time. Seireitei is a big place. So why worry? Be merry. Drink. Party. Have fun. Don’t let it get you down. Forget him, even if only for now.”

He knocked back the rest of his sake, and gave her a hopeful look. “Did that help?”

She looked down, her brows furrowed in thought.

“Actually…�� she said, “I think it might have.” She paused, her face twisted. “Weird!”

It felt suddenly like a massive weight was beginning to lift from off her shoulders. All of a sudden, she could not fathom how she had managed to struggle for so long in silence.

She smiled shyly at him, with such heartfelt gratitude that he was taken aback. His brown eyes widened, and his hand flew up to his hair self-consciously.

“Thank you,” she said. It was as simple as that.

She looked around furtively, and reached up to the top shelf.

“This is the best sake we have,” she whispered to him in a conspiratorial fashion. “I think you deserve some after that speech.”

The change in track allowed them both to circle back to less emotionally fraught ground, and they both seized on it.

“Rangiku-chan!” Kyouraku whispered in a betrayed voice. “You were holding out on me the whole time! You said the other sake was the good stuff!”

“This is for emergencies!” Rangiku whined, glad to be back on familiar ground. “Chiyo-san- my boss- measures how much is left in the bottle with a ruler, I swear. I’m taking a serious risk just showing this to you. She’ll kick my ass if she finds out that I let you have some on the house.”

She poured him a generous helping, and looking around to make sure that no one was watching, sloshed a little into her own cup.

“Kanpai!” she cheered in a hushed voice.

He raised his cup to hers, and his haori sleeve dragged in some spillage. He groaned lowly. “I’m going to have to ask Lisa-chan to get this cleaned for me tomorrow and walk around naked until I get it back.”

She tasted the sake and she moaned. “This is the good stuff. I’m ruined now,” she informed him dramatically. “Now that I’ve tasted this, I’ll never be able to go back to the cheap stuff.”

He grinned. “You can get better stuff than this in the mess halls in Seireitei, I’m pretty sure.”

She knocked him with her hand. “You’re just making that up. No way you can get such good sake there so easily.”

“I’m not kidding! Even on an unseated shinigami’s wages, you would be able to drink nothing but sake of this quality every night, I reckon.”

Her head went back and she laughed joyfully. “Now that should have been their sales pitch. Do you think I would have worried for a moment about joining up if I’d known that? I’d have left years ago.”

She hummed to herself as the sake curled warmly in her belly. “I’ve forgotten- whose turn was it to answer a question? Was it mine?”

He looked at her hopefully. “We’re still playing?”

“Don’t see why not. It’ll keep me entertained until we open,” she said with a shrug.

“I think it’s your go to ask a question.”

She hummed again, this time in thought.

“Who were you drinking with this evening?”

Kyouraku smiled a lazy grin. “I started off with some of the higher seated officers, but they couldn’t keep up. No one else wanted to keep going, and so I marched the long march to drunken glory by myself after they all left.”

Something about that sat wrong with Rangiku. “It’s no fun to drink on your own!” she protested. “You should have gone with them.”

“I’m not alone now,” the man pointed out quickly. “I’ve got you to keep me company.”

But he had been before, Rangiku couldn’t help but notice, and her eyes narrowed keenly.

Kyouraku whistled innocently to himself and gave her a dopey look. “My question. Who’s your favourite co-worker?”

Rangiku stumbled. “I can’t answer that!” she protested hotly.

“That’s my question, so you have to answer it,” he said, pointing his finger at her in triumph.

“That’s too hard! I can’t choose between them!” she whined pathetically.

“That’s my question!” he sang at her and she pouted.

“They’re right upstairs- they could hear me,” she said desperately.

“Rangiku’s a chicken!” He grinned.

It was a blow to her honour, and she pulled herself up with a kind of clumsy haughtiness. “Fine!” she said with a bang of her fist. “Fine!” She scowled. “Yuki and Rin are the nicest to me, but they’re older than I am, and so they treat me like a child. That can be nice, but it means that they’re less fun, and they’re less willing to mess around.” She mulled it over. “Sayaka is the most fun, but she doesn’t always think about what she says, and it’s her fault that I had to fight the shinigami student in the first place, so she’s in my bad books at the moment. Ayame is a pain in the ass.” She paused. “But it’s so much fun to wind her up. She gets so angry and she stomps around in a huff, even though she likes to pretend that she’s so above it all. It’s fun when you get her to join in.” Rangiku paused again, and a small smile crossed her lips. “It’s probably Ayame,” she confessed.

Kyouraku had a devilish look on his face. “I’m going to tell the rest of the girls you’re playing favourites,” he announced.

Rangiku glared. “No you’re not. I’ll kick you out before you can.”

She suddenly felt the pressing need to come up with a good question, to get revenge for his stupid prodding. “My go!” A devious look crossed her face. “What was so bad that you had to go on drinking alone?”

One eye looked at her from under a heavy eyelid. “What makes you think that?”

This was what he did, she realised. He equivocated and changed the subject and artfully wrong-footed her to keep her away from topics that he did not want to discuss, and he had been doing it all evening. Rangiku was young, and, she admitted to herself, occasionally quite self-absorbed, but she was not stupid. She knew what avoidance looked like.

She gave him a level look. “I’ve stood behind this bar for almost three years. Give me some credit. No one drinks on their own unless they don’t want to be sober.”

“I’m not drinking on my own,” Kyouraku insisted again. “I’m drinking with you.”

“You were wandering the streets alone before, looking for a drink.”

“Because I knew I would find someone to drink with,” he said firmly.

Rangiku was not convinced. “It’s not very fair to avoid the rules of your own game just because you’re afraid to answer. I answered your questions, and it was painful. If it’s a bad question, you should tell me and I’ll ask you a different one.”

He had a haunted expression in his eyes. “I’m not afraid,” he said, but the look in his eyes gave lie to his words.

“Sure,” she said sulkily. It stung a little that she had spilled so much of her soul to this stranger, only for him to refuse to do the same. Her heart clenched with the unfairness of it. Her lips curled in a pout and picked up a cup and began to clean it with quick, agitated movements. “I told you everything,” she said intensely, refusing to hold his gaze.

“You didn’t have to,” he pointed out sharply.

“But I did anyway.”

He sighed deeply. She took a chance, and glanced up quickly from her busy hands, but he caught her eye. His brown eyes were dark and heavy, and focused on her. She fumbled with the cup and glared at him fiercely.

He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, it was slow and reflective.

“My niece has applied to the academy this year. I saw her application letter with my own eyes last night.”

Rangiku halted. His expression was fragile- vulnerable- and he could not meet her eye. It moved something in her. She put the cup down slowly, and rested her arms on the bar, leaning forward so that he face was only inches away from his own.

“Is that so bad?” she asked gently, her eyes wide but searching.

“Yes,” he said, swallowing. “No. But also yes.”

“Why?”

He was silent for a moment, and could not hold her gaze. “She’s so young,” he said finally.

That was not it, and Rangiku knew instantly, but she was hesitant to say so.

“I’m young,” she said, her heart fluttering oddly. “My friend was young when he left.”

Kyouraku’s mouth twisted, and something in Rangiku twisted in response. He was a stranger; he should have meant nothing. But here she was all the same, reluctant to say the thing that would upset him.

“Too perceptive,” he said quietly. “Too perceptive by half.”

She took a deep breath, then, and said what she had suspected all along.

“You’re like me,” she told him quietly. “You’re scared too. Scared like me.”

Something lit in his eyes, a wariness or a fear- that he had been seen and seen so easily- but he said nothing.

“It’s alright to be scared,” she said, and she drew in a deep breath. “But ‘don’t let fear ruin your life’. Right?” They were his own words, offered back up to him tentatively, and her forget-me-not eyes were bright and blue and earnest. “Right?”

His eyes widened. His mouth was dry.

When he laughed, he laughed and laughed, and it sounded hollow.

“Can’t even take my own advice,” he said bitterly, and she caught the self-loathing in his voice.

Rangiku’s mouth formed a small ‘o’. “Hey…” she said hesitantly, leaning forward. “Hey-“

He stood suddenly, and did not wobble at all. It was hard to believe that the man had ever been drunk. He grabbed his hat as he rose. She had not realised before how tall he was.

“It’s late,” he announced blithely, ignoring her. “And I should be off. Lisa-chan will be out looking for me, and I don’t want to make my adorable Lisa-chan any angrier than she is already. That wouldn’t be nice.”

He was running, Rangiku realised- running away from the truth and the pain of confronting it. “Hey-“ she said sharply.

“It was a pleasure, Rangiku-chan,” he said. He paused, and as had so often been the case that evening, Rangiku found herself wrong-footed once again by his emotional turns, these strange games he always seemed to be playing and always seemed to be winning. He grinned at her, and she could only blink back. When he bent down to push a hair behind her ear, she looked at him with wide eyes. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in Seireitei,” he told her warmly, as if he wasn’t running away in a bid to avoid confronting his problems. “Maybe we can do this again.”

She stumbled. “Y-yeah,” she said uncertainly.

He placed a generous amount of money on the counter, and Rangiku’s eyes went wide. He beamed at her. “A smart, pretty girl always livens up a party! We’ll definitely see each other.”

He left so suddenly that had Rangiku looked away, she would have missed it. One second he was there, and then next, he had vanished as if he had simply melted into thin air.

She blinked owlishly for several seconds after, alone behind the bar. She wondered what it was that frightened him so much that he had felt that he’d had no choice but to leave.

The last thing she had seen of him had been a flash of white as he had turned on his heel, where his pink haori had lifted with the speed and turn of his movement-

A flash of white, and the number eight.

#Bleach #GinRan #Rangiku Matsumoto #shunsui kyoraku #gin ichimaru #so when I first watched bleach #many moons ago #kyoraku was probably my favourite character #shunsui and rangiku #lives and souls of the party #desperate aching melancholy #i think they could be so similar that they scare each other and run from one another #his bankai is a lovers' suicide pact

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